Not One of Us(47)

“I’m sorry. From what you told me of his old sports injury, I feel confident we’ve at last discovered why he disappeared.”

“Murder?”

“Most likely.”

I tried to infuse my voice with a calm strength I was far from feeling. “Tell me everything.”

“We received a call early this morning. A fisherman retrieved a skull on his line at Black Bottom Creek. A team of divers arrived shortly afterward.”

Tegan again paused slightly, and I braced myself for the grisly details.

“They collected over a dozen bone fragments, one of which was a tarsal with a healed fracture in the right toe.”

“Did all the bones belong to Deacon?” I asked quietly.

“No. We’re awaiting confirmation that the remains also include Louis and Clotille.”

Silence charged the phone connection.

“Go ahead. Tell me anything you can,” I urged. “It actually helps.”

“We expect dental records and other bone fragments will confirm the identity of Louis’s and Clotille’s remains.”

Black Bottom Creek was less than five miles from their old home. All this time, they’d been so close by, lying at the bottom of the stygian waters.

“Wh-why the fragments?” I asked finally, my voice catching. “Do you think their limbs were severed prior to being dumped in the swamp, or do you think it’s the work of alligators? Maybe even wild animals?”

“Could be any of those things,” she answered. “We’ll know more soon.”

I was unable to speak past the lump lodged in my throat.

“That’s really all I can say for now,” Tegan said gently. “It will be on the news tonight, so I wanted to tell you first.”

“Thank you,” I managed to say past numb lips. I hung up and drifted from my bedroom, stopping along the way to check in on Mimi. She still slept. Her silver-white hair was so thin that the delicate pink skin of her scalp peeked through. Her mouth was parted; her chest slowly rose and fell with each breath. How delicate and fragile life seemed, as though she could easily slip from life to death, her heart worn out and ticking its final beat.

Unlike the violent and early deaths of Deacon and his parents. They’d been cheated out of years and years. Who had killed them? Why had they done it? But the questions came and went, my anger sparked and then was extinguished by a drowning grief. Tonight, at least, I mourned for what could have—should have—been.

Be careful what you wish for. Mimi’s words whispered in my mind. All these years, I’d hoped and prayed their bodies would be discovered, their killers sent to prison, and the unfounded, unsavory rumors of their fleeing the country finally put to rest. But I’d been wrong. All of the above would provide me closure, but not comfort.

I returned to my room and picked up the photographs Dana had tucked in the yearbook, stared at Deacon grinning at the camera, an arm possessively slung over my shoulders. Through a film of tears, I couldn’t help smiling as I remembered the moment. I set the photo aside and looked through the others. I frowned as I laid each one out on the bedspread. I could have sworn there were several more photos. Shifting back through the memory of our visit, I recalled seeing at least a couple of pictures where a group of us—Deacon, Dana, myself, and others—had sat together on the bleachers after the game, passing around a flask of whiskey.

Those photos were gone.





Chapter 18


TEGAN


The excitement of discovering the Cormier bones was tempered by my sympathy for Jori. But as sad as this day must be for her, I believed that finally finding answers and eventually getting justice for that family would be the best thing for Jori in the long run. When Oliver buzzed me into his office later that day, I’d already forgotten we were scheduled to meet the new narcotics officer. I hurried into his office just in time to be seated before Carter Holt arrived.

Disheveled, sporting a scraggly beard and mustache, an oversize army coat, scuffed boots, and a ratty T-shirt, he indeed appeared as if he’d seamlessly blend into the underbelly drug culture he’d been hired to infiltrate.

“Thanks for meeting with us this afternoon,” Oliver said, motioning to the extra chair beside me.

It was 3:45 p.m., but Agent Holt looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, bleary eyed as though he’d been up all night.

“Next time let’s make it later in the day, ’kay?” he grunted, dropping his ungainly, tall body into the chair. His legs sprawled in front of him in a manner that suggested irritation without being insubordinate. He frowned at me. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“Deputy Blackwell,” I answered, matching his unfriendly tone.

Holt had a surly attitude to match the grungy attire. Was this guy a for-real cop or a junkie who’d found a way to get high and get paid for it?

I bit the inside of my mouth to keep from saying anything I’d regret. This was my first encounter with a narcotics agent. What did I know of their protocol and methods? Oliver had reviewed Holt’s work record and was pleased with what he’d found.

“Whatcha got?” Oliver asked, getting right down to business. “Any progress discovering who’s distributing in town?”

“Absolutely. I’m the best at this work,” Holt boasted. “I’ve been meeting with your informant. Shouldn’t take too long to bring down this two-bit ring.”